


Do You Want to Build a Snowman?

by LittleSixx



Series: Dramione - Twelve Days of Ficmas [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Flirting, F/M, Falling In Love, First Dates, Not Epilogue Compliant, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 03:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16610684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSixx/pseuds/LittleSixx
Summary: Draco takes Hermione on their first date, and he enjoys it more than he thought he would.





	Do You Want to Build a Snowman?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buttons1721](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttons1721/gifts), [ReapersMasquerade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReapersMasquerade/gifts), [crimsinsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsinsky/gifts).



> Rated T for language. Today's prompt was "snowman or ice skating." These stories can be read as standalones or as a series. This is story number two of twelve.

“I have no idea what to wear.”

Theo, Bastien, and Blaise stood in the middle of Draco’s closet as he paced around the room.

“Your closet is the size of my flat!” Bastien shouted, evidently surprised there was not an echo. Draco threw his hands in the air.

“A problem in its own right. Abundance of options and still nothing to wear!”

“It would help if you told us the name of your date,” Theo insisted.

“I have half a mind to cancel,” Draco said. He stopped pacing because Blaise was silent; he knew. He saved his words for the times when they were needed, and Draco guessed the nervous look on his own face could only lead to one conclusion. Blaise carefully scanned Draco’s expression before asking,

“Is this a joke or do you like her?”

“I think I might really like her,” Draco admitted, “and I cannot believe it.”

“Did we miss something?” Theo asked. Blaise ignored him and sifted through Draco’s clothes. “Who is she?”

“Hermione Granger,” Draco admitted.

“Fuck!” Bastien groaned. He pulled out two Galleons and placed them in Theo’s waiting hand. “I had money on Cho Chang.”

Draco rolled his eyes and retorted, “Cho would have my bollocks in a jar before going out with me.”

“Ernie said you and Granger stopped by,” Theo admitted. “I had a feeling.”

“Where are you taking her?” Blaise asked, somehow already buried waist-deep in Draco’s clothes.

“Can we take a moment to point out Malfoy has a chandelier in his closet?”’ Bastien asked. They all glanced upward and Draco shrugged, indifferent.

“We are going to the Prickly Pear,” Draco said. “I assumed you knew.”

“No, I did not,” Blaise huffed. “I will have words with my manager. They are supposed to inform me of all high-profile reservations. New-hires can be rather incompetent. Do you want to be seen?”

“The two of us? We will be seen regardless of how hard you try to make it otherwise,” Draco replied.

Blaise shrugged in indifference and Theo asked, “If you’re going to Blaise’s place, you need to be formal without making it look like you’re trying too hard.”

“Jeans,” Bastien suggested. Blaise snapped his fingers and agreed.

“Yes! Here, try these.” He flung a pair of black jeans at Draco, who caught them in one hand before tossing them over a chair.

“Merlin, who has a bloody chair in their closet?!” Bastien asked. He shook his head and insisted, “Give him something printed. Don’t want to be boring.”

Blaise nodded again and dove back into the pile of clothes he’d created. He emerged with a short-sleeved navy button-down covered in little white Snitches. He threw it at Draco and dove back in. Draco put it with the jeans and nervously tapped the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“Theo!” Blaise shouted. “Shoes!”

“On it!” Theo said, crossing the closet to scour Draco’s shoe rack. Which, if Draco was honest, was an even larger undertaking than his collection of dress robes. Bastien rolled his eyes, grabbed a textured brown blazer, and shouted,

“Done! Sometimes the secret to looking like you didn’t try too hard is actually not trying too hard.”

“You are the expert in that regard,” Blaise quipped. He pulled himself out of the pile of Draco’s clothing and looked over to Theo who was holding a pair of simple brown loafers.

“Hermione Granger,” Theo said. “I can’t believe the two of you are finally going on a date.”

“Finally?” Draco asked.

“Everyone knew you two were going to shag eventually,” Bastien said. “You don’t hate someone that much unless there’s something underneath it all that you don’t want to admit exists.”

“No one said anything about shagging,” Draco countered. He hoped his face didn’t give away that it was all he’d been thinking about since he left Granger on Friday afternoon. She was still sort of plain in the face, but her backside was begging to be held and he hadn’t seen her tits yet but Draco was certain they would not disappoint. “I would need to budget a whole five minutes just to find her through all that hair,” he joked.

No one bought it.

“Whatever,” Bastien shrugged. “We’re your best mates and you’ve been wanking to Granger since you were thirteen.”

Draco felt the colour drain from his face.

“I, too, have a date,” Blaise said. Just like that, Draco’s embarrassment was forgotten in favour of stunned silence.

“WHO?!” Theo asked with a huge smile. “Who is he? Do we know him?”

“I plan to withhold that information until I know there will be a second date,” Blaise replied. He rarely smiled like that and Draco found himself smiling back. “But I hope there will be.”

**.oOo.**

The Prickly Pear was Blaise’s first restaurant. He had two more, but the Prickly Pear was Draco’s favourite because it was small. Intimate. Cozy. It reminded Draco of the café where he and Hermione reconnected. It felt like a tiny step forward as a first date instead of a giant leap. The door was a faded fuchsia colour Blaise said reminded him of, naturally, prickly pears.

They were scheduled to meet at 7:30. When Granger hadn’t arrived at 7:35 Draco began to pace outside the entrance. His breath formed small crystals in the chill, and Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets. From the cold, not nerves, he told himself. He was definitely not nervous. Though, if anyone deserved to stand him up it was Granger. People arrived, walked up the steps, and shot him judgmental glances before stepping inside. Whether for the lack of a date or the crime of being Draco Malfoy, he couldn’t tell.

“Sorry!” Came Hermione’s voice shouting from down the street. Draco laughed and turned around to see her jogging toward him in heeled boots that had him fearing for her balance. “So sorry, I’m late. Late night at the Ministry, you see. World does not hold itself together. Again, apologies, I just—”

“Granger—”

“I had to work with the Department of International Cooperation. You see—”

“Granger!” Draco shouted again.

“—France is having a fit over the Beauxbatons visit to Hogwarts this year because they are slated to arrive after Durmstrang and Merlin knows that is going to take ages to re-coordinate!”

“Hermione!” Draco shouted. She finally came to her senses and gave him a hug. It stunned Draco for a moment before he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. It did not feel as strange as it should have. He shook the thought away and gestured toward the door, “After you.”

The inside of the restaurant was warm and filled with strident conversation filtering out from patrons huddled over their tabletops. It smelled like fresh bread and Hermione took a deep breath in before letting out a quiet moan that had Draco thinking of Blast-ended Skrewts and Mad-Eye Moody to avoid potential embarrassment.

“Ah, Lord Malfoy, Senior Undersecretary, we have been awaiting your arrival,” the hostess said. Draco jumped a bit, not having realized she was there. Granger was rather distracting, so at least that hadn’t changed. “Let us take your coats and I will show you to your table.”

Draco shrugged out of his own jacket before taking Hermione’s from her shoulders. He held it out to the faceless person next to him without removing his eyes from Hermione’s back.

“Bloody hell, they let you into the office like that?” he asked. She wore black tights, a black skirt that barely covered her arse, and a white jumper. It was simple, yet Draco found himself wondering how he’d never seen Hermione like this before.

“I wanted to let everyone know I had a date without having to tell them,” she admitted.

Draco guessed, “You wanted Weasley to know you had a date and trusted it would get back to him.”

Hermione shrugged and said, “Guilty.”

They followed the host toward the back wall of the restaurant. Each table they passed ceased conversation to stare. Draco chuckled darkly as some poor man accidentally knocked over his water in shock. Hermione sighed.

“Ten minutes before the entirety of Wizarding London knows we are here together,” Draco said. Hermione glanced around and shook her head.

“I give it a half hour at least,” she countered.

“That is why Mister Zabini left clear instruction we are to sit you in the back,” the hostess said.

“The back?” Hermione asked, as the hostess led them down a staircase and out of a door into the wintry air at the back of the building. It was a small garden that encompassed the width of the building and about ten metres outward. The grass had died and was coated with a thin layer of snow. A lopsided, partially-melted snowman stood in the corner furthest from them, the remainder of the area illuminated by multi-coloured fairy lights.

“Yes, Miss Undersecretary,” the hostess said. “We are to sit you here since this is the only place we can afford you any privacy.”

There was a small table in the middle of the garden surrounded by two chairs. A warming charm had been cast over a metre-wide radius so a light snow continued to fall around them as though they were in an inverted snow globe. Draco immediately noted the bucket of ice featuring a bottle of wine before pulling out Hermione’s chair. She plopped gracelessly down into it and he couldn’t help but laugh as he sidled by the table into his own.

“Mister Zabini wanted to ensure I tell you the wine is courtesy of us, for the inconvenience.”

Draco noted the label and said, “Tell him it was unnecessary but very much appreciated.”

The host nodded and replied, “I will pass that along. Bella will be your waitress this evening, is there anything else you need?”

“No, thank you,” Draco said. She turned away and left the two of them alone.

He was alone with Hermione Granger.

Sensing the awkwardness, she held her menu up to hide her eyes and put some space between the two of them. The only bits of Hermione that Draco could see were her fingers curling around the back and her hair puffing out around the sides.

“Why are we on a date?” she asked.

“Because I asked and you, for some reason, said yes,” Draco replied.

“I said yes because I’m not the person I used to be, and I don’t think you are either,” Hermione said. Draco spun his menu between his fingers. He asked,

“What have I done to give you such an impression?”

“You sat down at my table.”

That was a fair insult. Eighteen-year-old Draco Malfoy would have laughed himself out of a voice if someone told him to sit and have a conversation with Hermione Granger. Even after the trial, it was rough reconciling his beliefs with the woman gracious enough to help him avoid Azkaban. Something had to give and ideology eventually lost that battle.

Their waitress came down the stairs two at a time and walked over to their table. She nodded at both of them.

“Malfoy, Senior Undersecretary, my name is Bella and I will be serving you this evening. Which is code for, ‘I’m going to spend seventy-five percent of my time over there in the corner waiting until you need something,’ but I’m getting five extra Galleons for my trouble. The two of you could light the place next door on fire with the way you’re looking at each other, but I won’t say a thing to anyone about what happens here.”

Hermione sniggered and Draco felt his chinks go pink.

“Yes, well then,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll have the Cornish chicken. I appreciate your discretion but,” he nodded toward the restaurant windows, “I do not plan to give them a show.”

“I’ll have the aubergine,” Hermione said. She handed Bella her menu and plucked Draco’s out of his hand to do the same. “If _Witch Weekly_ asks you for a comment, tell them we shagged on the table. Malfoy here will give you five more Galleons if you do.”

“Will I?” Draco said.

“An amorous love affair?” Bella asked. “Consider it done. Your food will be out as soon as it is ready since I literally have no other tables.”

She left to deliver their orders and Draco couldn’t help but laugh.

“Can you imagine the _Witch Weekly_ headline?” he asked. “’Malfoy Shows Granger his Prickly Pear’ or some bollocks like that?”

Hermione laughed. She scrunched up her nose and squinted her eyes shut, but she had a cute, quiet laugh. He liked that it was completely contrary to everything else about her. She was so loud, everything from her voice to her hair to her general presence shouted her existence at the world. But her laugh was nearly silent.

“Keep your pear in your pants, Malfoy. That is not the sort of fruit I plan to taste this evening.”

“What do you think of me now, then?” he asked. He grabbed the bottle of wine as Hermione asked,

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, when you hear my name, what comes to mind?” Draco said. He uncorked the bottle and busied himself pouring it out for both of them to avoid seeing her reaction to the question. “Am I just a horrible series of memories to you, or is it something different?”

She took a deep breath in and didn’t let it out for several moments. Draco downed his wine as he awaited her response.

“When I think about you, I think about change,” Hermione answered. “We hated each other, but you don’t look at me the way you used to. You converted and that makes you decent.”

“Decent?” Draco asked. “I’ll take it.”

“I also think you are an arrogant prick whose hair could light up a Christmas tree,” she insisted. “And you, then? What do you think of me?”

It was a test and Draco knew it. He wasn’t certain of the correct answer. However, honesty seemed the best course with Granger so he went with it, odds be damned.

“I think your hair looks like someone misfired a Blasting Curse and the only reason you tolerate my presence is because you are bored.”

Hermione took a long sip of her wine before saying, “Well, then—”

“However, I know you to be smarter than anyone I have ever met. I know you and Potter are the only reason I still have my fortune and am not on my arse in a cell in Azkaban. Potter owed my family a debt, but you did not. You did what you believe was just, as you always have, and I admire that.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. She carefully sat her wineglass down on the table. “That was a nice thing to say.”

“I am not quite so terrible as you make me out to be,” Draco teased. He asked, “Why did you speak for me at my trial?”

Hermione groaned. Their food arrived then and Draco caught sight of Bella trying to blend into the corner. Blaise must have promised her more than five Galleons for such discretion.

“If I had a Knut for every time someone asked me that question, I could buy this restaurant.”

Draco returned his attention to her and cast all thoughts of everyone else aside.

“Give me an answer and see it done,” Draco quipped. Hermione rolled her eyes. He focused on her face because his gaze had a habit of ticking down to her chest when he wasn’t concentrating.

“You didn’t turn us over to the Death Eaters,” she answered. “I always thought you Slytherins were the same: duplicitous snakes whose words are split by forked tongues. But you were afraid, had opportunity to reclaim your family’s status at our expense, and you didn’t. People who make difficult choices, the ones who choose to be good, shouldn’t end up in Azkaban.”

“Well, seven years on, blood status is no longer of any concern to me,” Draco replied. “That died with my father.”

“And what of your mum?” Hermione asked.

“She still believes that nonsense, but I think she wants me to be happy. Whatever awful things they did together, my parents always loved each other. I want that sort of love, too, and she understands.”

Hermione returned her attention to the aubergine.

“The Christmas season is a good time to find it, I suppose,” she mumbled.

Draco began eating his food, uncertain how to respond. He could trip over himself if he wasn’t careful. Granger was interesting, though. She had grown into her sense of humour and her sense of self, two things Draco never struggled with.

“Do you think we should do this again?” Hermione asked.

“Do what?”

“Go out,” she replied. “You know, together. Should we go out a second time?”

“I dunno,” Draco admitted.

“Oh, thank Merlin, me either,” Hermione said. “This is just so weird.”

“But not unpleasant,” Draco insisted. “I quite like you, but I am not sure if I like you as a friend or something … Something I never expected to happen between the two of us, to be honest.”

“I feel the same,” Hermione admitted. She nervously twirled the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. “Sometimes I laugh at the ridiculousness of our situation. You and me out on a date really is the most preposterous thing in the world, but then I almost want to kiss you.”

Draco leaned forward and asked, “Almost?”

“Then you say something stupid about my hair and it ruins everything,” she answered. Draco laughed.

“I like your hair,” he said. “Not because it’s aesthetically pleasing, it really isn’t, but because you wouldn’t look like yourself if it was different.”

“One day, we may even graduate to giving each other true compliments,” Hermione teased. Draco laughed and she raised her wineglass. “To the magnificent fake shag we had on this table.”

Draco clinked their glasses together and rephrased, “To my endless stamina and your well-rounded tits, both of which are very real.”

Hermione laughed and they drank their wine together. It was the icebreaker they so desperately needed. They bought a pear and almond torta for dessert. Draco had not planned to stay for a third course but found he was in no rush to end their time together. Hermione threw an almond slice at him when he made fun of her SPEW initiative and he lightly threw some of the ice from the bucket at her in return.

When it was time to leave, Draco stopped Hermione before she could make for the stairs. He put his arm in front of her, pointed his wand at the table, and shouted, “ _Reducto Minore!”_ The table cracked in two.

“What was that for?” Hermione asked.

“To make it look like we had a good go of it,” Draco replied. Hermione laughed and caught sight of the snowman forgotten in the far corner of the garden. She nudged him and said,

“Draco, do you want to build a snowman?”

**.oOo.**

Five minutes after they left, Isabella Tintwistle went out back to see the table broken with the wine bottle having met a similar fate against the ground. She rolled her eyes anticipating several extra minutes’ cleaning, until she noticed the snowman some of the cooks built the day before. She walked over to see it now had two Galleons for eyes and three more for its buttons. Malfoy’s scarf was wrapped around its neck and there was a note stuck to one of its arms:

> _Bella,_
> 
> _Your service tonight was appreciated and here are the Galleons as promised._
> 
> _With gratitude,_
> 
> _Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger_

Bella smiled and plucked the coins from the snow. She stuffed them into her back pocket and sang, “O holy night, Galleons brightly shining …”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism are always welcome! Draco's outfit is based on Adam Galla's post [here](http://iamgalla.com/2014/04/petrichor/).


End file.
